insane psychobitch
by whizz
Summary: axel/roxas; i'm loco and you like it.


**game; **Kingdom Hearts II  
**pairing; **Axel/Roxas  
**warnings; **man/man pairing, adult themes  
**disclaimer; **I do not own Kingdom Hearts or any of the characters used.

**i.**

Roxas, while pushing through an immense crowd that seems to swing as an unity to the ear-shattering beat, actually figures that he should give himself a nice pat on the shoulder for his own admirable will-power.

The will-power, that is, to _not _smash the dainty glass of Margarita in his hand forcefully against his twin brother's foolishly grinning face.

It had all been Sora's idea - _of course _it had - and a misunderstanding and a set of begging puppydog-eyes later, Roxas had found himself a _lot _of unknown blocks away, namely in the middle of a crazy techno night over at Organization XIII, the newest night club downtown.

Sora doesn't even have the decency to look _sorry, _that scheming little idiot, his face flushed with the aftermath of passionate making out, dreamy-laced glossy eyes and all. Apparently, his latest fling - _Roku? Raiku? - _works in this over-filled cellar with neon walls and human cages - yeah, nice catch there, Sora, Roxas thinks in all of his fuming glory, wishing that he at least could get drunk enough to drive them both to death on the way home; unfortunately, Roxas actually possesses a _brain,_ shame on him,so he pushes his cocktail into Sora's already stumbling frame, harder than necessary, to which his brother only grins drunkenly; "thanks a bunch, Roxie!".

Roxas wants to gag, but remains cursing under his breath while looking for the goddamn exit. If Sora needed a baby sitter, couldn't he have asked his BFF Kairi to tag along? She'd probably come running in a heartbeat, equipped with hair strand-thin stilettos and five layers of mascara, as soon as she'd hear about "DJ Tiesto Underground BeatMaster" performing during the evening.

Just as Roxas is about to turn around and _demand _for his twin to find a path through the messy bunch of sweaty, grinding people so that they can get the _hell _out of here, and don't _ever _try something like this again, Sora, because this is the _goddamn _last time I'll ever come get your sorry ass and-

he finds himself face-to-face with a pair of brilliantly green eyes, _must be contact lenses, or maybe it's the neon light doing it, _and a sluggish smirk; oh, yeah, not to mention that his left hand is pressed against the stranger's very taut, very _naked _stomach-

"Jeez, sorry!" Roxas shouts over the insane beat, eyebrows knitting together as he slips past the redheaded man in sinfully tight jeans to grab hold of an unsteady Sora and drag him further along.

When he finally reaches the darned door, Roxas spares a quick glance over his shoulder, just to check that Sora is indeed close behind; instead, by chance, he catches sight of violently red hair in the middle of the crowd, that slim body moving skillfully beneath the puffs of smoke and blazing lamps, hands stretched towards the roof decorated with cracks and chewing gum.

And then, he suddenly has an armful of wheezing twin brother; so, Roxas propels Sora out of the door before he can throw up all over the floor embedded with tiny stones that glitter in the hypnotizing light, thinking that he oughta start doing drugs, or at least smoking ordinary cigarettes to relieve some of this constant stress.

**ii.  
**

He's back, and no matter how deep he digs into the mouldy, hidden parts of his conscience he can't find a legitimate reason to why he'd be here once more.

Sora apologized every ten minutes for two days in a row - even when Roxas slammed the door in his face, locked his apartment and turned the volume of his stereo up, text messages and e-mails of _please forgive me best brother in the world-_s kept rolling in.

Anyway, the thing is, see, he's _back; _the club is still as repulsive as last time, save for the important detail that it's Latino Night this time; chicks with too short skirts and too much make up practically humping the floor and guys with more beer than water in their blood acting like complete savages. Still, he's _back - _out of his own free will, no less!

Yes, Roxas finds it hard to believe, too - see, he barely even put up any resistance at all; Sora had asked him if he was up for a night at the club - since a whole heap of their mutual friends were also coming - and, the dark-blonde had, without much thought, said yes. _Yes! _He who hadn't even been to the _pub _in like, eight months, andandand-

Roxas takes a place at the bar, whirling the glass in front of him around and quietly observing Hayner dancing with a giggling Kairi and a wasted Olette, Sora necking with his current object of lust in between the bartender's breaks (and sometimes during them, too), Seifer drinking his ass off with Rai, while Fuu sits motionless sipping some orange juice, and he thinks - _what the hell am I doing here? _

"Seat free?"

He looks up, and for half a second, he feels the need to splash his face with ice-cold water.

It's that redheaded dude, only wearing _clothes _this time - a purple tank top with some scene band's logo, and he's motioning to the empty chair next to Roxas with a profuse tilt of the head, cat-like eyes glimmering, still as green as he remembers.

Roxas dumbly nods, figuring that any words he might've had - which he doesn't - would be lost to the volume of whatever remix of Ricky Martin that is playing right now, anyway.

"Hey, momma's boy, why so glum? This ain't the place for depression! When in Rome, do as the Romans do, you know? So, when in Organization XIII.. do as the Organization does."

Roxas blinks, eyes flickering from leather pants to venomous grin and back into those alert eyes. He shakes his head, half-smiling.

"Never been much for dancing. Besides, my mother's dead."

Instead of that mock-sympathetic look and exclamations of _oh god, I'm so sorry_ that Roxas has grown used to expecting, the stranger throws his head back, crimson spikes tickling the naked skin of his neck, and laughs.

"Life sure is a bitch on all fours! How 'bout buying me a drink, then, blondie?" he suggest then, slapping his nail polish'd hand down onto Roxas' knee, spreading his own legs just enough for it to be interpreted as a possible invitation.

Roxas is monotonous in his reactions as always, and his payment of the month came yesterday anyway, so he calls Riku over to take his order, ignoring his mussed silver hair and love-bitten jawline.

An hour later, Roxas distinguishes a throbbing in the back of his head. It's not uncomfortable, not really, it's just.. there, making everything else fuzzy. The light, the music, the noise; it all passes by his senses like fluttering bird wings colored in rainbow-shades.

What he _is _aware of, however, isn't the taste of his latest shot in the back of his mouth, nor is it his light-headed state; rather, it's the enchanting movements of a slim body dancing without shame, twisting and writhing in the very center of the dance floor.

Axel - that's the redhead's name - has slipped his penetrating eyes shut, seemingly lost to the music shaking beneath his headstrong feet, hips swinging in a way entirely too good to be allowed. And then, before Roxas can even comperhend what's going on through the dusty pink haze clouding his vision, that incredible body that he's been admiring without admitting to it, comes closer, never stopping in its dancing.

Axel is.. holy hell, Roxas' poor brain manages, before turning into a scramble of slurry words that probably don't even exist, as the taller man grinds down onto the blonde's lap, taunting smirk in place and half-lidded vivid eyes.

Acting on pure instinct, the seated one brings his surprisingly sure hands up, bracing them against dangerous and whirling hips, splaying his fingers out and enjoying the mixed feel of heated flesh where the other's T-shirt has glided up, and the polished material of his leather pants.

"..I'm crazy but you like it", Axel groans, and it takes Roxas a good three seconds to realize that he is singing along to the blasting song, but then he quickly dismisses the notion as he finds his thoughts twisting into much fundamental turns, such as the scent of Axel's cologne and those delicious thighs jumping against Roxas' own, only heat and the smell of booze mingling in the space between their bodies.

Roxas doesn't care about the fact that Sora's jaw has dropped to the very same floor that his Rebooks rest on, nor that Kairi and Olette are squealing about finding their cameras - doesn't care about Hayner dropping his drink in surprise, or about Seifer's loud laughter when he eyes the scene.

When Axel trails his tongue, scorning hot against Roxas' flushing skin, from his collarbone up to his earlobe only to mindlessly nibble on it, the blonde feels truly lost; logic, good advice and responsibility be damned, he's grunting and pushing up against Axel's dancing frame.

It goes faster than he thought, finding a goddamn cab, and they engage in a very explicit make-out session all the way up to fourth floor where they find _R. Osment _at the end of the hall.

**iii.**

Axel's a crazy bitch, and Roxas thinks that he knows it himself.

He loves to smoke inside of Roxas' apartment, no matter how many times the dirty-blonde boy scowls about it - loves to cause scenes in the middle of the street, at day light, screaming his heart out and gesticulating wildly and announcing all of their intimate troubles to the by passers of the world.

Axel loves to scroll down Roxas' text messages, asking things like "who's this whore Naminé?" with a sickening poison clouding his words, loves to break all of Roxas' passwords and codes and check all of his e-mails; the ones that his co-workers send, the ones that his father and Sora send, the ones that the guys back in Twilight Town send-

He loves to walk around wearing jeans tight enough to stop his blood circulation, loves drama to bits, loves to throw Roxas' shit out as soon as he gets into one of his whims, loves to hang the phone up with a resounding _clank! _whenever Roxas' father calls, loves to invade the blonde's personal space a all times imaginable, loves to clutch his hand to his chest in a most ladylike-fashion while trying and succeeding in getting free ice cream at the local gelato shop - when there with Roxas himself! - glossy angel-like pout on face and all.

He loves to hand out information about Roxas' abilities in bed to any ears present, loves to stare at the shorter male with a complete blank look after watching a scary movie, staying motionless until Roxas admits that he is, in fact, completely freaked out, loves to scream loud enough to shatter window panes whenever something mildly surprising happens, loves to hold long monologues about why he doesn't like the blonde's friends - while they're there, loves to come to Roxas' works wearing a coat (and _nothing _under), saying things like "you forgot your lunch, love" while perching himself up on Roxas' desk, crossing his _shaved _legs at the ankle, making all of the colleagues fall over in the process of getting a better view of the unfolding scene (and the scene is nothing but ridiculous, really - even if Roxas _had _forgotten his lunch Axel can't even make a sandwich to save his life; "ooh, but mister, what of my nails, then?" he'd mock-squeal, before flashing that trademark-smirk).

Axel is one crazy bitch, picking fights with girls that Roxas barely even glances out when they're out, threatening all of Roxas' exes to death, getting up and jumping jump rope in the middle of the night, drinking scotch for breakfast and stealing Kairi's silk panties.

Roxas has wanted to break up with him at least a million times, asking himself what the hell he was thinking, that blurry night less than five months ago. Roxas has tried to break up with him at least a hundred times, and each time been met with tears, a lot of screaming, threats, suicidal promises, more screaming, begging, and, at last, makeup sex - with enough screaming to wake all of the neighbours up.

He doesn't know why he keeps up with his fucked up mood swings, with his terrible manners, with his absolutely shameless body language, not to mention the crude language and the total lack of privacy between them-

"It's because you love me", Axel drawls, playing with the other's belt even as Roxas tries to tell him he's already late for work, trying to drink his coffee and fix his tie at the same time.

"Not likely", the blonde mutters, loudly cursing when he manages to spill hot coffee all over his light-blue button-up shirt, practically tearing it off of himself.

"Well.. maybe.." Axel purrs, not being subtle about giving the other a thorough look-over, "it's because the sex is _fantastic._ Especially.. mmm.. in the morning", he continues suggestively, trailing off and raising a meaningful eyebrow.

Roxas stands completely still for a whole of two point four seconds, seemingly frozen on the spot with his hand shoved down the dirty clothes basket, pausing in his search for another shirt - that was his last clean one, of course, since Axel forgot to book a time for the laundry _again, _and now he's sitting there, completely sprawled out on the bed, legs far apart and not leaving much to imagination despite the bath robe.

_Oh, _Roxas realizes._ Right._

"Screw work?" Axel innocently remarks, robe slipping off of lean, creamy-white shoulders, and it's the same eyes as ever - alive and present and awfully green.

"I can think of other ways to use that word", Roxas breathes huskily, almost tripping over his own feet in his rush to get to that bed, pinning Axel's willing body the instant their mouths clash.

He is a crazy bitch who knows he is, and Roxas loves it enough to let it drag him deeper in, until he's starting to feel the same kind of crazy.

**A/N; **I kind of admit to the fact that these kind of stories don't have a point, yet they're all over my profile. Why? Haha.. no, seriously though, it's probably because Axel fits the role of hot stuff with psycho tendencies. And yeah, so what if i was listening to Shakira's _Loca _when writing this? Heehe.. 


End file.
